


Sweet Siren (Perfectworldshippng Oneshot)

by anamnesisapproaches



Category: Pokemon - Fandom
Genre: Augustine is a merfolk, Blood, Blood I guess, But just a reminder they do kiss and it gets decently feisky, French Kissing, I do mention other admins, Kissing, M/M, Minor Injuries, Oooooo Perfectworldshipoing, YOU KNOW WHAT IM DONE TAGGING, and a flaming gay who can’t help but spit fire every time he thinks about scientist, but if I’m being honest I can only remember their names if I search them, but it doesn’t matter because this fic ain’t about them, feisky, ill keep it like that, im sorry I just never felt like they had memorable names, in both ways, its about a scientist with an eternal bedhead, mermaid au, not really - Freeform, or designs, or personalities, see im funny, sirens cant have legs, that was a typo but I kinda like it, they call him a Siren too, they kiss with the tongue and they’re french
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 09:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19059682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamnesisapproaches/pseuds/anamnesisapproaches
Summary: I wrote this in three days and it ain’t even that good.





	Sweet Siren (Perfectworldshippng Oneshot)

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU where Sycamore is of the Merfolk species. The species is critically endangered, making Sycamore functionally the last of his species.

The ocean. 

A vast, wonderful place, filled to the brim with life. In Kalos, few visited the rocky crags on the farthest part of the region’s Western land, for it was slippery, and very dangerous. Regally walking around the viciously sharp rocks, was a person with marvelously groomed hair, his demeanor strong, though decently thin. He was nimble, and was able to slip around the rocky shores without fear. 

The man, Lysandre was his name, often went down to the shore to admire one of the few truly beautiful parts of the world. It helped him cool down after having to tolerate all the admins bickering over their hairstyles for the day. Once before, Celosia and Aliana got into a physical fight over how to properly blend blush into foundation. The other admins had to run in and break them up. 

Lysandre did enjoy makeup, and especially grooming himself to near perfection, but he didn’t care when he had other things to work on. Though he did enjoy putting on various perfumes. But what felt most important was the shores which lay before him. Lysandre adored the way the sand consumed his heels, and how the water always moistened the leather to near perfection. 

However, the shore was not the only thing which drew him closer to the deep blue oceanic waves. What reeled him in like a fish to a fisherman was a soft singing he could hear. 

The ambience of the voice was enchanting. Possibly even literally. Lysandre didn’t exactly notice that his legs were moving in seek of the sound. 

“Where are you…” Lysandre called into the air, though no reply came. He wasn’t looking for a reply, and was talking to himself, mostly. 

But that is when he turned a corner. And there, propped up on top of a massive rock spiking out far into the ocean, further than all the others…. There, alone, was a beautiful being, illuminated in the sunset. 

Their tail cascaded elegantly down the ragged terrain, glistening with blues and silvers which had an icy cold sheen to them. On the upper part of the body, was smooth, silken skin. 

Lysandre stood in awe of their eerie ambience, which practically sparkled like tiny cracks of lightning. Along with their flawless looks, which Lysandre swore could kill better than any knife, they also emanated an aria of sound, which enchanted the entire beach to a magical landscape. 

“How charming your song is, beautiful Siren.. It is beyond anything I had heard before. It could reel in any being you could ever want to attract.” Called the man as the creature before him finished their sweet serenade to the sea. They gasped, coiling their tail defensively in attempt to protect themselves, just in case Lysandre was a person of threat. 

That was not the case. 

“Do not worry, I simply wish to meet you..” Lysandre began to advance, taking small yet careful steps towards the fully exposed Siren, akin to a trained Lipizzaner. The being of the seas stared at him admiringly, tilting their head warily while staying put upon the rock’s face. 

“What is your name, Siren? Mine is Fuladari. However most simply call me Lysandre.” He extended a hand towards the timid beast, which was surprisingly smaller than the orange-haired man which stood on two legs. 

“...Platane…” They spoke, voice soft. Lysandre couldn’t help but smile at the soft look he got from them. Their hair was almost like wire, and it was pushed to one side, twisting crookedly down their face. 

“Hmm? That’s a nice name.”

“...Sycamore, too. Augustine Sycamore is what most call me by.” A rippling movement shivered down his tail, spiraling to the tip, eventually causing him to slap the rock on impulse. The rolling twitch had begun when Lysandre had stared at him in an odd way. 

“Pretty name.. Your tail does happen to look quite a bit like a Sycamore tree when curled up like that, I must say.” He began to sweet talk the Siren, murmuring with bright, flaming curiosity. Sycamore swallowed. 

“...Thank you…”

The two engaged in active conversation for quite a while. From exchanging thoughts on the environment, to childish legends of mythical Pokémon, little to no topics of the fun sort were left untouched.

“Recently I’ve just been playing around with Lucarionite stones. Mega Evolution is one of my biggest interests.” The land dweller spoke, staring up at the sky in wait for Sycamore to respond. 

“Oh, you research Mega Evolution?” Sycamore’s eyes brightened at Lysandre’s mention of his work. “I love that subject a lot. I’ve been researching mostly the way Mega Evolution occurs in nature without humans, if there even is a way. I guess when it comes to research, it makes the sea a good spot to live…”

“Sounds about right.”

“One could suppose so. Though who knows, maybe land would be better to research it on.” His voice trilled like a dolphin’s cry, bringing joy to Lysandre’s exhausted ears. 

“It’s getting late…” Sycamore commented, his twisting locks of hair running down across his pale back like thick, mystical smoke against a cloudy sky. “Do you not have a place to stay?”

“What? Oh, no. I have a rather large home not too far away.” Lysandre’s gaze caressed Sycamore’s scales, admiring them all like they were little stars. Beautiful, beyond any and all reason…. And yet, untouchable. 

“Good…. You should get going. I sense a large storm approaching.”

Without further hesitation, Lysandre was sent off with a small shell as a token of Sycamore’s unexpected company. It had a spiraling curve to its shape, the inside pearlescent when the sun hit it. Outside was a rough, creamy surface that felt like sandstone. It wouldn’t break, no matter if he dropped it or squeezed it. 

On each side of the shell, there were naturally occurring holes, which would fit perfectly to his slender fingers. Perhaps, he thought, it could make a sound if he blew on the largest opening, which curved out a small bit at the top. 

Lysandre was walking down a path through some rough bracken to reach his abode, all alone in the dusky lights of a day’s last breath. Without thinking, he pulled the shell to his thin lips, and blew the softest note one could imagine. It was a deep tone, vibrating the shell beneath his dainty grip. 

He played a sweet tune. Its pitch-perfect tones would have harmonized with the Siren’s voice. 

He could practically imagine in his mind; Sycamore’s hearty call. His sweeping hair which blew in the wind. His name truly did stay true to the nature of his hair. It was twisted, mildly crazy, though soft to the eye. It looked almost chaotic, though had an odd sense of order to it, much like a real Sycamore was like. 

The elegant curvature of his elongated silken tails and fins was beyond charming. He could even say that it’s rather enchanting. It was mathematically pleasing to the eyes and soul, almost like a caress to his cheek. A caress he knew Sycamore was capable of. 

He had only talked with the being for a few hours, yet was already neck deep, admiring him with every fiber of his being. 

It spooked Lysandre, if he was being truly honest. He was aware that Sirens often were tricky. They were always finding ways to prey upon people and drag them into the ocean to their demises. Sycamore could very well be playing Lysandre. That was the nature of his species, was it not?

However when he looked down at the gift he had obtained, he frowned and sighed. It couldn’t have been possible. Sycamore was truly sweet, and he couldn’t imagine that such a creature— no— such a person who was so gentle could possibly want to murder him. Lysandre knew a lying face when he saw one, and Sycamore was not that. 

When the man returned home, he lay alone in bed, blinking up at the ceiling. One hand was raised up over his head with the shell which was gifted to him. It felt like ages before a calming slumber overcame him, thrusting him into what felt like black smog. His mind was woozy and filled with thoughts which invaded his body and soul, sourced from his mind. It hurt, almost, to think about the Siren. 

Which is why he ran back the next day. 

Almost frenzied, Lysandre returned, like a Pokémon to its trainer. He beckoned Sycamore forth from the ocean with his presence, though no merfolk emerged from the bay. Lysandre huffed, and sat on a rock, concluding to stay put until the man returned. 

However, he did not. Not coming onto the rocks to meet up with Lysandre, not perched upon the ragged forms to serenade at the dying sun. Nor was he there to simply bask in the sun. He assumed, since Sycamore was a sea creature, it must be because of something that happened beneath the seas. Or perhaps he was simply passing through at the time, possibly for migration. 

Did merfolk migrate?

It did not matter though. Their time together had only lasted a few hours of the former waning day, and their bond not the strongest.

However this feeling he got. It felt quite odd. He couldn’t help but notice a sickly sweet sensation which rose in the back of his mouth. At the mere thought of Sycamore, he was already feeling flushed. Never had he thought his heart would race so fast. He swore a heart attack was impeding on him. 

But yet, it never came, the shaky feeling simply becoming perpetual. It continued, endlessly becoming worse and worse. The more he thought of him, the more excited he got. Lysandre didn’t know what to think of such emotions. It felt odd. He felt mildly sick, even. That is, until his hands met up with the rough surface of the shell. 

Slowly, he pulled it out. Lysandre looked at it. He wondered what would happen if he played it once more. 

Near the ocean. 

So he propped the shell up, and rested his lips upon the opening. Again, did he play the tune, propped up upon the rock as the tune echoed much like Sycamore’s voice had in this place. The man blissed out, feeling chills run down his spine as the water underneath churned chaotically. The riptide was always strong, even right underneath the ground he sat upon. 

Something changed in the sloshing of the waves, however, and something seemed to emerge. Lysandre’s eyes opened to eventually meet up with a marvelous pair of blue-grey ones. Sycamore looked very enticed by the shell’s sound. Or, perhaps, he was more enticed by how the muscle on Lysandre’s arms shifted slightly at the movement of his fingers. Either way, he was enticed; enchanted, even, by the land-dweller. 

“Hello again.” The man spoke calmly, though he fought to keep it from wavering. 

“Hi..” Sycamore replied in return, pulling himself onto land, though this time he felt no fear in approaching, inching closer and closer to the man who admired him so. His gaze was like a sheep to a shepherd, timid yet fond. 

They had talked, Day after day, becoming ever closer. Both in a literal sense, and a physical sense. Lysandre begun to tell him about how the land works. How you drive around on cars, and fly on Pokémon. Sycamore seemed amazed. 

“So like giant boxes that you climb into so you can move faster?” He made certain he was getting things right. Lysandre nodded. “Whoa…. And you can ride on the backs of Pokémon, too?” He obtained another nod. 

Eventually Sycamore began to talk, explaining how his anatomy worked, and how the ocean functioned. All Lysandre had to do was blow the shell-ocarina, and Sycamore would emerge. 

“You May not have noticed but I actually have gills.” Sycamore raise his arm slightly, exposing the soft flesh. He had four large gills on each side of his chest. 

“Whoa.” Lysandre pretended to not have noticed before. However, having inspected pretty much every detail of his skin by the season’s turn, he had noticed them already. 

“My scales absorb moisture while filtering out salts, so that way I can survive in the ocean.”

They kept meeting up, at least thrice a week. They continued to talk, and get physically closer each time. Lysandre yearned to break the barrier and give physical contact. However, he knew to let the Siren take his time. He was a timid being, and needed to show him when he was ready instead of pushing the subject. 

Once, he met up with Sycamore on a Sunday night, and he began to approach very carefully. The Siren looked intimidated and scared, head hanging lowly. Seeing him scower like a scared lilipup made Lysandre’s tough heart melt a little, causing him to inch closer. 

“What’s the matter, Sycamore?” He asked kindly, though stayed firm enough to not give off a weak voice. The Siren hobbled over to Lysandre, pausing a few feet away. They hadn’t gotten any closer than that. Until now. 

He slipped ever closer, pausing just before touching the land-dweller. Once he moved to have contact with him, Lysandre sighed, staring down at the merfolk, whom snuggled into his side. The moment of bliss lasted for a good few moments, before Lysandre realized why he had cuddled into his body. 

Next to his gills was a rather large fishing hook. It was roughly tugged into his flesh, and it appeared the fisherman had been tough to fight against. The area around it was decently mangled, causing Lysandre to become royally pissed off. Whoever did this would one day get the shit beaten out of them. Without a doubt. 

“Sycamore—“ he sputtered, placing a hand over his upper arm, trying his best to lift it and see how bad the wound was. It looked pretty bad, and Lysandre sighed. “Can I bring you back to my place…?” Lysandre asked permission before acting. He had a pool back at his place, along with medical supplies. How well it would work with a sea creature, he did not know, but one could try. When he got a silent response of a nod of the head, Lysandre wetted his gills with water before bundling him up in a jacket before running off and away from the ocean. 

With great haste, he swept across the land, gripping the being with great care. He could see how scared Sycamore had been. Surely in the ocean such a wound would have become infected. Though not the most largest gash in the world, it still posed a threat. Lysandre kept him close, bringing the Siren back to his place. 

Eventually, when they returned, Lysandre started the flow to a bath, using lukewarm water instead of cold. He placed Sycamore inside, then beginning to fan water across the fragile gills. Blood washed away from it, giving him a better idea of how to treat it. 

“Please move to your side for a moment. I need to disinfect it.” Lysandre furrowed his brows, and pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol from his cabinet. The liquid would hurt, and the Siren had no clue as he shifted to better expose the area. 

“Hold still, okay?” Lysandre kept a firm voice, though knew a great splash of water was begging to meet his face in the near future. 

Upon contact with the alcohol, Sycamore screeched, writing in pain as a flaming hot sensation scorched the wound. His rain curled, absolutely soaking Lysandre to the bone. The man, of course, gave no fucks, simply trying to kill off the vicious bacteria which without a doubt had found their way into the wound. His heart ached to hear such a calm voice cry out in any form of pain, whether it be from medicine, or from assault. 

When he looked through his medical supplies, the man realized that he had water-resistant bandages. A sigh of sheer relief escaped him, causing him to hop up, shuffling over to the tub. Sycamore, on the other hand, was breathing the tub water through his mouth, eyes glaring into absolutely nothing. He appeared to still be under stress. 

Not a word was spoken as Lysandre worked at the wound. He prodded at it with towels to soak up the blood that recently shed, then placed a few large pads of gauze down. 

“Does the wound ache at all?” He asked softly, tilting his head. Sycamore nodded tiredly. 

“It does. Mainly in the middle, though.” His voice wasn’t weak anymore, but still rather shaky, unlike the smooth and gentle one he normally knew. Lysandre sighed wearily, glancing at the clock. He didn’t see the exact time, but it was almost midnight, way past his beauty rest time, and would definitely eat into the next day’s work.

“I’ll purchase some creams to help keep it clean. You and I both agree that we don’t want to deal with the pain of the rubbing alcohol again.” The land-dweller murmured, pulling up a chair to the tub’s side, resting his head upon to wall. 

“...Don’t you need sleep?” 

Lysandre nodded. 

“Don’t you use a bed?”

He nodded again. Sycamore huffed worriedly, tilting his head in deep confusion. A glimmer of life returned to his eyes as he watched Lysandre breathe the open air. 

“Then why not sleep in the bed?”

“You can’t, so I’m not moving.”

With that, the Siren began to blush. The warmth that plagued Lysandre’s heart and cheeks, the same exact heat was now rising in the other’s body, from the pit of his stomach outwards. What was this, he would think, though at the same time fully aware of what sensations he was getting. He had never been in love before, but he knew that this was its feeling. He knew the caress of emotions was love. It had to be. 

“You can sleep in your bed if you want. I know back problems are a common thing on the surface…” Sycamore reached out without thinking, extending an arm to try and touch Lysandre’s hand. However he moved just moments before they touched, and Sycamore snapped his hand back before the man would open his eyes, moving faster than even a Pikachu just after using agility. 

“No need. I like being next to you, anyways.” Lysandre’s eyes were tired. Either that, or filled with some sort of emotion. He had a glazed over look, which made the siren’s spine prickle excitedly. “Though, I would like to ask you one small question.” He added on. Sycamore grimaced. He knew it would be bad. He understood that hollow tone of voice anywhere. 

“What is it?” 

“Do you trust me…?” Lysandre asked, before chuckling. “And if you do… Please, close your eyes.” 

Without any hesitation, he closed his eyes. Only what he heard, felt, and smelt could he recognize. He felt like a blinded furfrou, helpless yet willingly subjecting themselves to the vulnerability. 

He could hear the man’s breath heave as he got up, then puff when settled down next to the slippery tub. Sycamore kept his eyes completely closed. He trusted him. 

He could feel Lysandre wrap his hands around the smaller’s shoulders, and pull him up into a sitting position from the water. He knew he could trust him. 

He could sense him get closer. A fruity scent invaded his nostrils, smelling like sweet tropical foods cobbled together into a flawless medley of scent. The back of his cheeks stung with a deep desire. A desire which was met with content, as a burning flame licked across his lips. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes closed anymore.

His eyes flew open, and bulged as he met his gaze up with Lysandre’s. The man was kissing him. He did not know what that initial feeling was, but the Siren could only compare it to a crack of thunder, almost like a whip. He pulled back to end the kiss. 

“Damn it, I’m so sorry—“ He tried to apologize, but when he did, Sycamore lunged forwards like a wild Pokémon, pressing the most timid kiss ever into his lips. The little whispers of a kiss were charming to Lysandre, but his bold nature wasn’t enough. He pushed in, holding Sycamore and his head still while opening his own mouth. The Siren reached his hands up to grope mindlessly at Lysandre’s back. He tried desperately to find grounding, eventually hooking his slender hands onto Lysandre’s thick collarbone. A merfolk’s bones were naturally thinner than a human’s. 

“Open your mouth..” Lysandre directed. He didn’t force it on Sycamore, simply asking him to try something new. Without a single thought, he obliged to the offer, opening his mouth. 

They were both immediately plunged into boundless bliss. 

Sycamore’s head tilted at first, but at the same time, the other’s head turned with him. Their noses scrunched together, Sycamore giggling as he felt Lysandre’s tongue upon his lips. He could feel the velvety surface of the land-dweller’s tongue. It felt almost like warm, wet moss. It’s soft feeling practically melted his dear Siren, melding the two together in their embrace. 

“You’re much warmer than I would have thought…” Sycamore commented as the kiss eventually mellowed out. “Your lips are like flames…” He only knew about such an element from the bonfires people occasionally held on the beach. He had never seen them up close, but even from afar, the heat could be felt. 

“Fire is my favorite Pokémon type…” Lysandre grinned. He had something up his sleeve. “But when it comes to people, you’re just my type~”

Damn, that was awful. 

But nonetheless a giggle escaped his mouth, the Siren leaning in once again to place a soft kiss to Lysandre’s lips. 

“You need sleep.” Sycamore whispered. “I need sleep.”

“Then sleep. I will too.” He learned to the side, shoulder and head against the wall. 

“Good night, Lionfish…” Sycamore tiredly smiled at the ceiling. His thin lips curled at the sides very slightly, which scrunched up his cheeks. Lysandre laced his fingers between Sycamore’s, looking almost like a comb moving through thin hair. 

“Good night, my Enchanter.”


End file.
